A Walk in the Park
by Mister Buch
Summary: Oneshot. Just before the attack on Eden Prime, Saren walks through the Citadel Presidium, one last time.


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Mass Effect: "A Walk in the Park"

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The old, unblemished wall of the Presidium corridor caught Saren's eye as he passed. A single, pencil-thin line of brilliant blue lay tentatively across its length, reflected from his body. Even now the blue implants he wore seemed alien and bothered him at night. He used up two seconds recognising the source of the reflection, and the moment of insecurity made him snarl. By marching his talon-tipped feet away he removed the offending light, but now he saw a human woman and an asari maiden chatting across the way, and he was enraged again. Their arms were touching.

He had never been made so acutely aware of the physical similarity between the two races; he had never given any serious thought to the evolutionary history of the ape-people. But these two females might have been twins, were it not for the human's animal hair and mud-brown skin. They were sharing a joke together, flashing cream teeth in what might have been some form of flirtation.

Humans seemed to him to be a corruption of the asari form, as if they had melded with batarians and produced the new species by mistake. As he passed the couple, he resisted the urge to attack them. The fact that he felt the urge at all would have worried him, but instead he chose to congratulate himself for overcoming it. Before long, these two would likely be dead anyway. It was unavoidable, but he would enjoy some of the destruction. Hopefully the humans might be removed completely.

A laugh from one of them, he couldn't even tell which, tensed his body and sped him up. Immediately he was back in the open, warmed by an expertly-crafted sky and lulled by the Keepers' lake.

If he and the geth puppets were able to secure this second Beacon on the human colony, perhaps that would be it. Perhaps he would not see this lake untainted again. But then, perhaps he could taint it with red blood. The thought relaxed him further.

There had been a time when Saren Arterius needed no stimulus to keep his emotions in check. In his line of work, and before that in his service to the Hierarchy, there had been no room in his life for uncertainty or weakness. The discovery of Sovereign had changed this. Now there were things he didn't understand, plans he was not privy to. It enraged him, but there were no option other than compliance. Now Saren had to fight for his position, and for the survival of sentient life once the sacking began.

Raising his eyes to find something to take his mind off the thought, the turian noticed the dull grey Krogan statue standing stupidly in the water. That vile thing would have to go, once Sovereign and the Geth began their work. Across the way he saw the Prothean Relay monument, which he preferred.

On a bench sat the bulk of a volus, its folds of fat nestling down comfortably over the inert body and onto the metal slats propping it up. Smiling, Saren made his way over and joined the repulsive creature.

Eyes hidden behind glass strapped down by leather stared at Saren's bright, exposed lenses. The sight of a volus always made him appreciate the freedom he held, and he instinctively blinked in the open air. Now, with so much of his self controlled by Sovereign, he felt a little pity as he savoured the sensation of air brushing his skin.

"Well well," the volus said. "A Spectre calls."

He didn't understand whatever reference the diminutive arbiter was making, but Saren resisted the urge to bark and just smiled slyly.

"Good evening, Cola," he said back, still musing on the tight bindings covering the other's face. That mouthpiece made it look as if he were screaming.

There was a stifled, wet breath, amplified by close proximity to a microphone. Saren grimaced before checking himself. "You're here," Cola heaved, "about Vakarian, I take it."

The volus was only half-right, but the end of his statement let Saren know the little one was not wholly convinced.

"That's right," Saren said nonchalantly. "I want to check on this situation whilst I'm here. Have you been watching him?"

"As you instructed, yes. Don't worry, my opinion of you isn't strong enough to compromise my fear of brute force."

Saren didn't feel like letting the insult pass. "Spectres are not chosen for their aptitude in brute force, Cola."

"You, Saren, operate above the law, not even behind it. You're twice my height and you head an army of krogan and robots. I meant no insult, but please understand that words are all I have to play with."

"I _understand_ more than you know, friend," Saren wanred. "I'm not in the mood to be mocked."

"Well then, I'm sorry," Cola replied. "What information do you need?"

Saren wanted to rip off the little being's suit and watch him suffocate, but he did not. The Spectre was well-versed in the buying and selling of knowledge, and considered himself better-informed than even the Shadow Broker. However, he needed this converation to continue.

"Garrus," he said quietly.

The tension dissipated as Saren pushed back into his seat, deciding that he had won. The volus followed suit, summoning an omni-tool display and hitting twenty or so buttons with the ease of a career typist. Saren watched the orange display, waiting for some hologram or recording concerning the C-Sec agent, but none came. Cola began talking as it faded.

"Vakarian is no closer than he was at my last report. He has spent the last week working on a genocide case whilst spending his free time talking about you."

This was bad. Saren raised his chin an inch to request more detail.

"His co-workers, his old partner, anyone who will listen for long enough. He won't stop talking about you, in fact. I for one am sick of you."

"And what does he tell these people?"

"That you are, in his words, _up to something_. He says it over and over, in an accusing voice, and often he jabs his index finger as he does. That is all. He knows as much as I do, but I…"

Saren interrupted. "Then I'll keep you both alive for a while."

Nodding, Cola finished his sentence with a slight change in his tone. "…but I have the good sense to keep quiet about it."

"This is good. So I'm up to something, am I?"

"That is very much what I hear, yes, although no-one takes him seriously. He can feel it in his _bones_, smell something or other in the _air_. He's taken on a lot of human metaphor, as so many of you turians do these days."

The unexpected mention of humanity made the turian snap his neck to one side and clamp his jaw shut. Rather than express his distaste vocally he pressed a toe hard against the floor, scratching the millennia-old surface a little. Cola seemed to notice him, so he stood to avoid another snide remark.

He got one anyway. "Is that all you wanted?"

"For now, yes. I have more people to speak to today, many of them more respectful."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Saren."

Saren would have crippled him and thrown his round, squirming body into the lake, but that would defeat the purpose of the meeting. It was essential that he spoke to a good number of reasonably influential people tonight, and that this happened in public. It wouldn't do to have his whereabouts unknown hours before he razed a human colony. He needed witnesses.

Despite what he had said, though, Cola was the last appointment. Turning away from him with as much false indifference as he could muster, Saren walked away, in the opposite direction to the little interspecies coupling he had passed on the way. This would mean he had to take a longer trip. For a moment he considered using the rapid transit system to return to the docking bay, then dismissed the idea. It was nice to be here again, and away from the whispers.

Crossing a bridge across the river, he lazily ran a hand along the edge of the short wall, noting the lack of imperfections or dust on the surface. Back on Palaven, it was common for commanding officers to run their hands along curves in the furniture like this in search of dust. If any was found then lower-ranking citizens would be punished, but the officers themselves would take the shame. There was very little dust back home.

Sovereign, waiting for him in another cluster, was a mess, inside and out. From his experience with it and with the geth, it was clear that the machines did not value cleanliness and order any more than was practical. Making the interior of the great ship hospitable for a proud turian had been curious and lengthy work. In fact it had never truly been finished. Rather, as time had gone on, Saren had ceased caring. It would be ridiculous for a Spectre and a Matriarch to spend their time cleaning an empty warship.

Sometimes he would notice some disorder inside Sovereign, and move to tidy it, but something would stop him. He wasn't even sure if this disinterest was learned, him having been away from the Hierarchy and civilisation for so long, or if the monster synthetic was controlling him directly. He would often hear the whispers then. They were so loud now. When he returned in his small transport vessel, they would be deafening.

The thought made Saren's stomach feel tight, and he gripped the walkway, pulling with all his strength. When his arm hurt him too much he stepped away and allowed his heavy breathing suffice for catharsis.

He decided to forget about Sovereign while he could, and just enjoy the Presidium. Electric blue lights from his clothing shone into the warm water, merging with it, but he didn't let himself notice. In a few hours he would be painted in swaths of red and the inevitable final hour would be one step closer. He would have another Beacon and Sovereign would be pleased.

A distant bird call made him smile. The Reapers had built a paradise here, and the Protheans and asari had kept it well. Perhaps once the Council races had been driven out, or killed… when the Reapers returned, and enslaved the…

Perhaps when Saren's work was done, this place would remain beautiful, as it always had.


End file.
